


That One Huge Mistake

by karavan



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Anal Sex, Bottom Dave Strider, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Friends to Lovers, John and Dave swap nudes, John is bi and that's that, M/M, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Senior year, Sexting, Spanking, a smattering of angst, hi can you see my kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 01:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21128264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karavan/pseuds/karavan
Summary: An ill-considered one-night-stand turns into something unexpected.Or; John and Dave have sex and it gets weird. In a good way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, it's been a while! I've wanted this for a long time and so here it is. It's pretty dirty. I was going to post it to an alt account but WTH. 
> 
> Two-parter!

You know you should try to be more in the moment, be better at this.

It's not like you haven't seen enough shitty porn to give a halfway decent performance, work him up to the point where he can at least blow his load and not have to wave the whole thing off as some sad, failed experiment.

You can feel his gaze at your temple now and you just know he's staring at you, probably wondering what's wrong and why you're so quiet. Going by the way you talk around him he probably thought he was in for some AVN-worthy, wallbanging bullshit up in here, all like _ah!_ \- _ah!_ \- _yeah_ \- _John_ \- _just like that_ \- _uh!_ \- _yeah_ \- _you're so big_ \- _fuck me so hard—_

And _now_ he's thinking what a colossal screw-up he made the minute he decided putting his dick in you was a better way to pass the time than perusing the weird shit on Bro's computer, or watching Leaving Las Vegas for the ninetieth time.

You're fucking up big time here — the dude stretched himself all the way out to a two on the Kinsey Scale just for you and you're not exactly doing your part to _make it happen_, at least give him something to remember this by other than 'oh, yeah, that one huge mistake'.

Maybe he thinks you don't like it. Maybe he actually thinks he's hurting you or something dumb and wow, you're literally inches away from ruining what might be the best dicking of your life and you're damned if you're gonna let your overthinking ass mess this one up for you. Not when it's something you've wanted since you were way too young for that to be cool. Not even if you can't help flopping around uselessly beneath him with this stupid look on your face because all you can think is _oh my god oh my god this is actually happening it's actually real John Egbert is fucking me with his actual dick and it's kind of the best thing that ever happened ever shit shit holy shit—_

You groan and slide a hand up his back, finding his skin sweat-slicked and sticky, and wind your fingers through his hair. You pull him into you and meet his gaze, holding it there just long enough that it borders on uncomfortable.

You're already kissing him, losing yourself in the sensation of his lips moving on yours, when it occurs to you that maybe kissing was the wrong move. You're loving it but making out with your best friend might be even weirder than fucking him. He didn't kiss you at all before, and it's not like there was any build-up here. The whole idea of sex only came up because Bro was out. You were both bored and horny when John started rifling through Bro's poorly-hidden stash of porno DVDs, which precipitated the billionth lame straight-boy joke about him wrecking your ass. Of course you'd answered that like it wasn't actually a joke, and then...

You break the kiss and, under the pretense of needing air, suck in a deep breath. John stops to look at you but doesn't move to re-initiate any kissing, so you quickly figure you were onto something solid when you guessed he wouldn't be so into it. You try not to look too bummed out about that.

"Does it hurt?" His voice is a low murmur, ringing in the rare ambience of your room. The familiar scent of his deodorant, mingled with the raw smell of his sweat, makes your dick ache.

You shake your head. "No way. Feels so good." Your own voice sounds thick, lower, and you're way too into this — the slowing roll of his hips, the weight of him bearing down on you — to be self-conscious.

"Yeah?" He looks sceptical but also a little proud, like no one's ever told him how good he is with his dick before. Maybe they haven't, but then you don't need to think about that.

"Yeah. You wanna try it?"

You watch the corners of his mouth twitch slightly but the look he gives you straight after tells you not to push your luck. Which is just as well because under him suits you just fine.

"Hey. C'mere." You don't even have time to ask what's up before his hands are on your hips and he's flipping you over onto your stomach with ease. Your cheek hits the pillow with a thud and you think, _well okay. Message received_. You press your lips to your forearm just in time to stifle a yelp when he delivers a stinging slap to your ass.

"You like that?"

He does it again before you can answer him and you nod your head, breathless and dizzy with lust. Your blood pounds in your ears and it occurs to you that you're now in a prime position to rub your dick up against your comforter. You spread your knees apart to enable better friction and John places a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you down into the mattress. His fingernails bite into your back as he starts to press into you, and when the head of his dick finally breaches you again he lets out a little noise that has to be the hottest thing you've ever heard.

When he starts building up into a good rhythm once more you make a mental note that he's kind of noisy when he's getting close — breathing hard and fast, grabbing and spanking you loud enough that it rings in your ears; asking if you love this dick, tells you you take it so good.

You twist around and pinch at his hip, try to telepathically transmit a warning that Bro's been known to enter the apartment in relative silence. The thought of Bro coming home in the middle of you getting rammed doesn't exactly fill your heart with joy but John's too far gone to notice. You're a mess, too — totally incapable of coherent speech, though towards the end you somehow manage to blurt out that you want him to cum in you and well, that wraps shit up.

John lets out a strangled groan and his fingers twist in your hair, so hard it makes your eyes water. You're so overwhelmed by it all — the sensation of his dick throbbing inside you as he cums; the way he's holding you down, how rough he is with you, like he just _knows_ you want that — that you lose it without even touching yourself, muffling your moans in your palm.

You stay there without moving a muscle for a minute, until you both manage to catch your breath. John rolls off of you first and you flop over onto your back, cringing when your skin makes contact with your rapidly-cooling jizz. You watch John get to his feet, watch as he peels the condom off and tosses it into your wastepaper basket. He snatches his boxers up off the floor and tugs them up over his hips, and you're grateful when he's considerate enough to pick yours up too and toss them at you, because you don't really want to be naked now that he's not. 

It's dead-silent while you change your sheets. When you're finished you climb into bed and roll over to face the door, waiting for it because you know how this goes. John will make some lame excuse to go home, even though he always stays, and you'll pretend you're so fucking cool with it while simultaneously thinking he's kind of a dickhead for not doing you the courtesy of at least pretending he can wait to get away from you.

If it was anyone else it's not like you'd lose any sleep over it. But it's _John_ and this is why fucking your friends is a really, really bad idea.

You're already envisioning a variety of ways you can make yourself literally, physically ill in order to avoid school, and by extension John (because faking sick just doesn't work with Bro; you have to actually _be_ sick) when John plants a knee on your mattress and says, "Hey, shove over."

You blink, then roll over to make some room. John collapses beside you, throwing an arm over your chest, and you almost can't believe it when a couple of minutes later he's snoring. You watch him sleep for a while, and for a brief moment allow yourself to entertain the thought that this won't be the last time it ever happens.

* * *

You wake up late on Sunday morning, hot Texas sun streaming through the half-open blind, right onto your face. You blink and rub at your eyes, sitting up on your elbows and immediately checking the space beside you.

It's empty.

John's gone but you tell yourself it's cool. You're not mad he dipped before you woke up. He did the Nice Dude thing — he stayed after he fucked you — which means he's off the hook now and well, you guess that's that.

You get up, because if you stay in bed and alone with your thoughts much longer you'll only get lost in some pointless debate with yourself over whether last night was real, or just the product of years of repressed, wishful thinking...

You head to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash up, then out to the kitchen for a glass of water. You watch Bro from the sink as you're filling your glass up under the tap. He's sitting on the futon, hunched over the fanned-out insides of his computer, so lost in concentration he hasn't even looked up to acknowledge your presence. Not that he would anyway.

You take your glass out to the living room because what the hell; you'd rather sit next to your Bro in stiff silence than be alone.

It's cool sometimes to just sit and watch him when he's distracted — there's something weirdly soothing about watching him work with his hands. His hands are big and often threatening, but you feel safe when they're busy like this, tinkering with tools that look comically small in his grasp. He's usually not too bothered when you sit with him, as long as you're not getting on his tits. Most of the time he doesn't even notice you, unless he needs to order you around.

Today's different.

"You in my shit last night?"

You try not to show you're caught off-guard and take your time answering, because Bro's questions tend to have correct answers. Zero room for error. And the correct answer definitely isn't "erm" or "what?"

"What shit?" Still the wrong answer, even if it's at least not a lie, but if you took any longer to say something there's a strong chance he might hit you.

"That a yes?"

"No." Fuck.

"Funny, Dave," he says, in a voice that makes it clear he doesn't actually find it funny. "If you hadn't been in any shit, you'd just say no."

You swallow hard. "Okay. No." Double-fuck. Now you're a liar and a dipshit, but you can never think straight when he puts you on the spot like that.

He doesn't say anything else, but that doesn't mean he's forgotten, or that you're out of the woods. When he asks you something, 9 times out of 10 he already knows the answer and is only asking to make you sweat. You know this about him, and you know too that it would've been way easier on you to just admit you and John had touched his condoms, messed with his weird sex shit. He'd be mad, but he's always madder when you lie. Now you get to wait for him to spring something on you and it could take days for him to find the best way to set you straight.

Great.

You can't be in the same room as him anymore — he most likely knows what you did and that's awkward as fuck. You beat it back to your room without another word and, on instinct, pull your phone from your pocket. You're halfway through typing a message to John when you catch yourself and delete the text.

John's still your friend, but is he?

It's possible last night changed things too much and even if you were hoping to just carry on like nothing happened, it's probably still too weird. He might want to talk about it, give you the whole "listen...it's not you, it's me" speech. You're definitely not deluded enough to need to hear it but John probably thinks it's a kindness. You wish there was some way to tell him that it's cool, you're ready to brush this shit right under the cobwebby rug where it belongs, but you're a little worried about coming off like a jerk or making things worse.

Last night had seemed like a real good idea at the time — bad ideas always seem so good when you're following your dick — but now you wish you'd used your upstairs brain and heeded the advice Bro has always given you: _Don't shit where you eat._

Fuck. All you want to do is vent to John about Bro being a weird douche but you can't even do that. John's the one you go to when you're pissed off or anxious and he's such a dork he always manages to make things better, even if there's still things you can't really tell him. But maybe you'll find your way back to totally uncomplicated friendship if you give enough time for this to blow over.

You stuff your phone back inside your pocket and wait for him to reach out to you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the rest of those tags come into play. I hope you like this one! It was super fun to write.

He does, later that evening, only it's the last thing you were expecting.

Your phone pings when you're busy bluffing your way through your History essay, and a sharp pang of anxiety sweeps through you before you even know it's John. You wipe your palms on your jeans and fish your phone from your pocket.

There it is: A notification from John.

You hesitate before clicking on it. Once you click on something it's not like you can _un_click it. He'll know you've read it, whatever it is, which means you'll be obligated to say something fast. You're already overthinking it and you don't even know what he's said yet — there's no way you'll be able to come up with something sufficiently cool without first leaving a lengthy, very _un_cool pause. He'll know something's up the minute you don't reply instantly with the first bullshit line that springs to mind because, well, he just knows you like that.

Fuck it. You wince and click on the message. You're surprised to see it's not text, but an image attachment with the tagline:

you want this? ;)

It takes a full minute for your brain to make sense of what you're seeing. When it finally registers, you let out a hiss of breath and say "damn" out loud.

It's a picture of John, taken on his bed. He's sprawled out with the camera tilted downward, so that you can't see his face — just his bare chest, his abs, and his fingers curled around the outline of his hard dick, which is concealed only by the flimsy fabric of his underwear. Not that you're much of a dick pic connoisseur but it's one of the more tasteful lewds you've received in your lifetime — good lighting, perfect pose, and suggestive without relying on bare dick alone.

But it's John. Holy fuck, it's _John_.

Your mouth dries up as you search for the right response. Every second that ticks by makes things awkward. You're taking too long to respond, and he's probably getting worried over there.

You bite your thumbnail and type:

niiiiice

but regret that the minute you hit send. What is even wrong with you? There were like, a million potential responses to that message and you went with 'niiiiiice'?

Your gut feeling that you're an idiot is confirmed just a few seconds later when John replies.

EB: ummmm... :(

TG: oh  
TG: sorry  
TG: sweet abs dude  
TG: bet you could crack a beer cap with those things

You top that off by sending a grainy gif of some schlubby dude popping finger guns.

EB: WOW.  
EB: are you serious right now?  
EB: you know what, just delete it. i'll see you at school.

John goes idle and you fling your phone away from you, burying a groan inside your open palms. Panic claws at you. If things were weird before, they're only weirder now. You're not sure what kind of response John was expecting but whatever it was, you've clearly missed the mark and made him mad at you to boot.

You don't even have anyone you can turn to for advice. If it were someone else, you'd screenshot the whole exchange and send it to John, who'd probably get a kick out of it. Now that it's you _and_ John, it's suddenly not so funny anymore.

Asking Bro for some pointers here is so not an option. You can only see that going one of two ways: He laughs at you (definitely not with you but AT you) or just acts disgusted by you. You have a hard rule about not doing sex talk with Jade which leaves you with one last option.

TG: hey rose

TT: Good evening, Dave.

TG: so  
TG: quick question

TT: Very well. Shoot.

TG: please hold judgment til the end ok but  
TG: whats the right response to a dude sending you a dick pic  
TG: ok so not like a dick pic but more of um  
TG: an artful nude i guess

TT: Dave. I'm sure you're aware by now that 'dick pics' aren't exactly my area of expertise.

TG: right right  
TG: no i get that  
TG: but rose youre like this massive fucking brainiac  
TG: you basically know everything right  
TG: everything covers dick pics

TT: Flattery is bad manners.  
TT: But yes.

After a somewhat lengthy pause, during which you bite one of your fingernails almost down to the quick, you have to roll your eyes.

TG: youre googling it right now arent you

TT: Of course not.  
TT: But to answer your first question, I believe the protocol to be something along the lines of "I'll show you mine if you show me yours".

TG: ahhhh  
TG: makes sense  
TG: like tit for tat but with dick

TT: Something like that.

TG: sweet  
TG: thanks rose

TT: No problem. But Dave?

TG: yeah

TT: Does the gentleman sending artful nudes have a name? Anyone we might know?

TG: huge no  
TG: peace

You switch out of your chat app and open the camera instead. You close it again when you find yourself pacing around the room, feeling stupid.

It had never once occurred to you that John might want a nude from you in return. The idea is so ridiculous you find yourself rejecting it before you've even properly considered it. There's no way he can want to beat it to your nudes, right? There’s like, a whole internet full of porn _right there_ at his fingertips.

It’s not like you don’t understand the irony in that line of thinking, considering he slept with you last night, but in your mind that whole thing said more about his level of boredom than it did how much he might have wanted to bang you.

You guess there's a small chance you were wrong about that. A very small chance.

You flick the lights on, then off again. Dim lighting is probably better if you're going to take nudes anyway. Are you going to take nudes? Nudes for your best friend John? Yeah. You’re actually going through with this. You’re going to take the nudes.

You flop down on your bed and kick off your shoes, wriggling out of your jeans. You pull your shirt over your head too and toss it to the floor, studying your own half-naked body — your ribs; the dip in your stomach and your skinny legs. Nothing about this feels particularly sexy to you but fuck it. You bring your phone up close to your face.

TG: so  
TG: youre a little pissed at me huh

EB: i dunno. maybe? just feeling kinda stupid is all.

Damn it.

TG: shut up ok  
TG: youre not stupid

You're the one who's stupid. And there’s only one way to fix this.

With a sigh, you open your camera app again and pan it up and down your body, trying to find a good angle. You think about mirroring the picture he sent to you, but you're way too nervous to be excited like that.

You plant your feet flat on the mattress and draw your knees together. Shifting your hips up, you hook a thumb in your boxers and drag one side down over your hipbone, revealing a little but not too much. You snap the picture and review it for a few seconds before flipping over onto your stomach.

You press your cheek to the pillow and raise yourself on spread knees, dipping your spine so your ass juts out in a way you hope looks hot, then pull your underwear down to mid-thigh. It's a little uncomfortable but you manage to angle the phone over your shoulder enough to snap another picture, though it takes two or three tries before you find one you like enough to send. One you think _John_ might like, and damn if that thought doesn't send you spinning out all over again.

There's a small moment in which you try to talk yourself out of it — because come on, this is fucking nuts; and seriously, Bro would murder you if he knew you were doing this, on the home wi-fi no less — but you've come this far already. John's already mad at you, it's already super weird, and if there's one thing you're good at it's taking bad situations and throwing gasoline all over that shit.

You send both pictures as a single attachment, with the tagline:

still mad?

You wait anxiously for his response. A few seconds later, your phone buzzes in your hand and, squinting down at the screen, heat floods your face. He's reacted to your pictures with the 'drool' and 'eggplant' emojis. You snort a laugh but find your amusement quickly smothered by a rising sense of exhilaration. This is next-level flirting — you're even fucking blushing — and it's with John. You're flirting with your best friend, or he's flirting with you, and nothing makes sense but you don't want it to stop.

TG: so not mad?

EB: after that, i think you're forgiven...

TG: ok good  
TG: cause ive been shittin bricks over here dude  
TG: we never fight  
TG: was super weird  
TG: lets not do it again ok

EB: haha! dave, that was not even a fight.  
EB: but you can relax now, stop shitting bricks or whatever the hell that means!  
EB: we’re okay.

You sit there in your darkening bedroom, hunched over your phone, and start chewing on your thumbnail again.

_We're okay._

But are you? What happens when John's over this? He falls in love with a different person like every other week. No way he's gonna be into you forever. So what about the after? Do you go back to how things were — no changes, just buddy-buddies; delete the nudes, forget this shit ever happened — or is it gonna leave some indelible stain you'll both try to ignore but in the end won't be able to?

What you really want to know is just how fucked you're gonna be when you’ve been demoted to Awkward Acquaintance.

You're already fretting over what to say next when your phone buzzes once more.

EB: so... last night was kind of amazing, right?

You bite down on your nail so hard that a sharp pain shoots through your thumb and you let out a little gasp. You wipe your hand down on your thigh and take a slow breath.

TG: yeah  
TG: i mean yeah  
TG: it was great  
TG: really great

Hell. You are so, so bad at this.

EB: i'm so hard right now just thinking about it... i wish i was there with you.

Familiar warmth pools in your belly and you find yourself thinking with the wrong end of your body again.

Screw it. Whatever this is, you'll enjoy it while it lasts. It’s not like you can go back and unfuck him anyway. You’ve made your bed and it’s time to lie in it. Preferably with John.

You lean back on your pillows and try to get comfortable. You flatten a palm against your belly and let your hand dip lower, slipping your fingers beneath the waistband of your boxers. You hold your phone close to your face with your free hand and bite down on your lower lip.

TG: yeah me too  
TG: so bad

EB: yeah? maybe you should tell me what you want me to do to you then...

You close your eyes and curl your fingers around your dick, starting first with slow, firm strokes. There are so many things you want. You want to look down and see John's face between your legs, watch as he closes his lips around you. You want to feel his teeth at your throat — feel how bad he wants you with each possessive bite. You want to bend over and have him ram you so hard you scream yourself hoarse...

TG: i think  
TG: i wanna do whatever you want me to do

EB: shit. that's really hot.  
EB: you know what i want?  
EB: i want you to suck my dick. i wanna fuck you til you can’t take it anymore.  
EB: would you like that?

You let out a strangled whimper as you quicken the pace of your strokes, sweat starting to bead at your temples.

EB: dave?

TG: yheh

You've never realized until now hard it is to jerk it and type at the same time. It's like there's some extra special coordination required and you're just not nailing it.

EB: are you touching yourself?

TG: take a wlid guess dude

EB: fuck.  
EB: stay with me for a minute. i want to ask you something.

TG: ok

EB: so last night, when you asked me to cum in you... did you mean that?  
EB: like no condom, for real?

TG: yeah...

You think about that again, about him fucking you — about how bad you wanted that; so bad you were a little ashamed of yourself for it — and your dick throbs in your hand. A second later and you're losing it, jizz spilling hot all over your fist.

Your phone buzzes again, but you need a minute to catch your breath before you check it. When you've finally calmed down, are together enough to wipe your hands off with tissues, you pick up your phone again. John's sent you a short video file and you click on it without thinking.

It's a six-second clip of him beating off, fist tightly closed tight around his flushed erection. The camera picks up a soft moan right before he spurts all over his hand and tightly-drawn abs. Your spent dick gives a weak twitch of interest at the scene before you, but you're going to have to wait at least twenty minutes before you can do anything about it. You press down on the video and save it to your phone's memory — the literal spank bank — for later.

EB: wow! that was intense, right?!

TG: you could say that

EB: gotta say, i'm pretty wiped!

You stare at that message a few seconds, reading it again and again. You wish you could read something into it other than dismissal, a ‘gee, thanks again for the good time little buddy, catch you on the flip!’ but you can’t. You’re immediately a little sensitive, then hate yourself for being such a puss.

TG: ditto dude  
TG: actually i think im gonna hit the sack

EB: dave, wait...

TG: yeah?

EB: you know i really care about you, right?

TG: uhh  
TG: yes?  
TG: like i always thought so anyway  
TG: i care about you too man

EB: good. i mean, i'd never do anything to hurt you! you know that, don't you?

There's a vague twang of disappointment at the pit of your stomach but you bury it over quickly. You know what he means; you know exactly what this is, and you should be grateful he's being so chill about letting you know where you stand. It'd be dumb to take it any other way.

TG: yeah i know that  
TG: were good  
TG: ill catch you in the morning ok

EB: ok. goodnight <3

You roll onto your side and close your eyes, wedge your phone under your pillow and fall asleep right there on top of your comforter, still in your underwear.

* * *

You're putting your books away in your locker the next morning when you sense you're no longer alone. You sweep a pile of empty candy bar wrappers to the back of your locker then slam it shut.

“Hey!”

“Agh!”

Your heart stutters in your chest when you find John looming over you, all bright eyes and wide, crooked grin.

“Holy shit, dude.” You literally clutch at your chest, where your heart is pounding with all the fury of a snare drum, and your shoulder bumps the locker.

John’s expression switches instantly from enthusiastic to concerned. He puts a hand on your shoulder — _same hand that was spanking your ass Saturday night,_ your brain unhelpfully supplies — and rubs your upper arm. “Damn, Dave. You okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m just—” You blow out a breath. “What’s up?”

John shrugs a shoulder, and a warm flush rises in your face when you note he looks a little sheepish. “Nothing. Just wanted to see you. Hey, are you sure you’re alright? You’re looking a little...peaky. Is it—” He clears his throat, then in a lowered voice says, “Is it me?”

He looks so worried you almost feel sorry for him. You don’t want to add to the awkward vibe by confessing you’ve been dangerously on edge since Sunday morning, just waiting for the other shoe to drop with your Bro, so you just say, “What? No. Look at this face, man, I’m chiller than a killer right now.” Ugh. Lame.

“Oh.” John flashes another grin. “Okay, cool. Hey, I got you something. Figured you hadn’t eaten just yet.” He grabs your wrist and slaps something down in your palm — an opened, half-eaten cookie dough protein bar. You stare at it for a minute and try to muster up a grateful smile. You wish he’d quit trying to feed you every morning, though, because it’s super transparent.

Still, you do the polite thing and unwrap it, then shove the rest in your mouth. “Thanks,” you say thickly, giving a quick thumbs-up.

“No worries. Hey listen, is your Bro gonna be out tonight?”

You take your time chewing, balking at the chalky texture, and slowly swallow. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you reply, “Uh, maybe? I dunno, dude doesn’t exactly print me out copies of his schedule. Why, what’s up?”

It’s John’s turn to blush. It’s a novel moment for you — John’s too easygoing to get embarrassed by much — but you feel like a tool when it dawns on you that he’s probably trying to set up a booty call, and that your cavalier attitude could be interpreted as disinterest.

“I mean, I could try to find out,” you rush to add, trying to save the moment, “but he gets kinda suss on me when I ask too many questions and that’d be— Anyway, we can work something out if you wanna...hang later.”

“Yeah!” John says, looking relieved. “I mean, don’t say anything to him if you think he’s gonna…" He trails off there, apparently reconsidering where that sentence was going. "Like, we could just chill at my place or something?”

Yeah. Chill. _Right_.

“Yeah,” you tell him, readjusting your bag over your shoulder. “So we’ll work something out. It’ll be cool.”

“Cool.”

“Yup. Cool.” You smack your lips then turn to snap the padlock closed on your locker. When you turn around, John’s still standing there expectantly. When he holds his hand out to you, you furrow your brow before you remember the empty wrapper in your hand.

“Oh. Right. Gotta think about the environment.” You slap the wrapper down in his palm, figuring he’ll probably dispose of it on his way to class, and he looks at you like you’ve sprouted horns.

“Dude. Seriously?”

“What?” You stare back at him, trying to work out which transgression you’ve made now, and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re just… Wow, Dave.” Stuffing the wrapper inside his pocket, John holds his hand out to you again, this time letting his fingers brush the inside of your palm, which sends nervous sparks shooting up your arm. Your breath catches in your throat when his fingers hook around yours and you realize he’s trying to hold your hand.

In public. In front of people. Okay, only two people. Two girls who are watching you and John from the opposite lockers with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“Come on,” John says, tugging at you.

You follow his lead, forcing yourself to put one foot in front of the other as your thoughts spin frantic loops inside your head. You stare down at your intertwined hands with a detached sense of disbelief.

John Egbert is touching you. Like that. In public. And he’s not even embarrassed.

You can’t help thinking then that if this is a mistake, maybe it’s one you actually want to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


End file.
